Uncles
Uncles, in particular uncles named Bob*, came up at work this week. I don't actually have an uncle Bob. Not so much as a Robert in the family on either side. On the paternal side it was Oscar (the one Not Spoken Of), Norman, Art, Milton. Each had a number of middle names as well, which I never knew well enough to remember.
Except for my father, Rene, who had no middle name at all. He was kept back starting school to go with his one year younger sister, Madeline. At my parents wedding, Rene insisted on having a birthday cake at the reception for Madeline whose birthday was the next day. So goes the story. Herbie was her husband, and as unpleasant an uncle as one could want -short, stout, in too tight plaid pants and loud shirts, a used car salesman stereotype, although I don't know if that's what he actually did. He mostly ignored me, which made it better.
Uncle Art was a big, hard, loud smoker who liked to grab up children and sit them on his lap and roar with laughter. No meanness in him, but I still found him intrusive and alarming. Uncle Norman was laconic and always ill, unobjectionable and unapproachable. Uncle Milton fell between the two, and although I knew him the best, and felt the most warmth for him, it was still an arms-length relationship.
On my mother's side, the brothers were Michael, Walt, & Jerry. Michael drowned age 17, but never left the family consciousness. Uncle Walt I adored because he talked to me as though I were an equal, and smoked a pipe with the most wonderful aromas, and blew smoke rings for me. Jerry had eight children, every visit to their place was chaos, which is all I remember of him.
The husbands of the sisters were Ernie, and Elmer. Uncle Ernie had an infectious giggle and gentle manner. Until he fell off a roof, the brain injury changing him permanently, and he became vague and petulant. Elmer started off as a collector, always showing me coins he thought I be interested in, letting me read through stacks of old comics. (Peanuts and Archie, mostly.) He became a full on hoarder, with several sheds packed full, after the house had only a few paths left. It took Aunt Grace a year after his death to clear it all. By then, she was diagnosed with breast cancer, probably due to chemicals she'd been exposed to as a beautician since the 30's.
Aside from Michael, the names are all very old fashioned, fallen into disuse these days. The paternal uncles were farmers, and did not enlist in the war. Walt - I always thought it was in the CAF, but I remember being corrected on that point, so I don't know really. Jerry was Navy, chasing UBoats up the St. Lawrence, which he could not tell anyone for years after the war. I have no idea about the rest. I could find out, I suppose. I think I'll stick to the stories as they have filtered down to me. More to come.
*Yes, as in Bob's your uncle.
Except for my father, Rene, who had no middle name at all. He was kept back starting school to go with his one year younger sister, Madeline. At my parents wedding, Rene insisted on having a birthday cake at the reception for Madeline whose birthday was the next day. So goes the story. Herbie was her husband, and as unpleasant an uncle as one could want -short, stout, in too tight plaid pants and loud shirts, a used car salesman stereotype, although I don't know if that's what he actually did. He mostly ignored me, which made it better.
Uncle Art was a big, hard, loud smoker who liked to grab up children and sit them on his lap and roar with laughter. No meanness in him, but I still found him intrusive and alarming. Uncle Norman was laconic and always ill, unobjectionable and unapproachable. Uncle Milton fell between the two, and although I knew him the best, and felt the most warmth for him, it was still an arms-length relationship.
On my mother's side, the brothers were Michael, Walt, & Jerry. Michael drowned age 17, but never left the family consciousness. Uncle Walt I adored because he talked to me as though I were an equal, and smoked a pipe with the most wonderful aromas, and blew smoke rings for me. Jerry had eight children, every visit to their place was chaos, which is all I remember of him.
The husbands of the sisters were Ernie, and Elmer. Uncle Ernie had an infectious giggle and gentle manner. Until he fell off a roof, the brain injury changing him permanently, and he became vague and petulant. Elmer started off as a collector, always showing me coins he thought I be interested in, letting me read through stacks of old comics. (Peanuts and Archie, mostly.) He became a full on hoarder, with several sheds packed full, after the house had only a few paths left. It took Aunt Grace a year after his death to clear it all. By then, she was diagnosed with breast cancer, probably due to chemicals she'd been exposed to as a beautician since the 30's.
Aside from Michael, the names are all very old fashioned, fallen into disuse these days. The paternal uncles were farmers, and did not enlist in the war. Walt - I always thought it was in the CAF, but I remember being corrected on that point, so I don't know really. Jerry was Navy, chasing UBoats up the St. Lawrence, which he could not tell anyone for years after the war. I have no idea about the rest. I could find out, I suppose. I think I'll stick to the stories as they have filtered down to me. More to come.
*Yes, as in Bob's your uncle.
Labels: stories
Posted by Zhoen on Saturday, October 02, 2010
1 comments:
My father being an only child leaves me only with my mother's two brother, Paul and Clement. Paul is very gregarious and inventive but can't hold a job. Clement is first born and a bit full of himself. My mother's sister's husband died and was eventually replaced by a man with the same first name.
My children have an uncle Bob, my wife's brother.
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